During the recent basement purge at the Graham residence, many music related artifacts were brought to light. There was the handheld karaoke machine that was used as a guitar amplifier on Abe Lincoln’s Father’s Boss. There was a box of rusty drum hardware. There were over one hundred 4-track master tapes, filled with my dubious musical legacy.

And then there was the box of video cassettes – dusty reminders of pre-digital life. Their bulky presence seemed to lend a degree of comfort to one’s living room, and those big, fat spines certainly made it easy to locate that copy of Mrs. Doubtfire on a Saturday evening. Some of these VHS tapes went directly to the St. Vincent de Paul bag (Bob the Builder), and others were slightly harder to part with (adieu, Ren & Stimpy!). But here also were several tapes of -gulp- me. Or, rather, tapes of two of my old bands, Fluid Drive and Howl, captured on stage, in the recording studio, and on television.

I had never really sat down and watched these tapes. Rather than subject myself to the humiliation of seeing my dorky self perform (and maybe learn what not to do the next time), I had simply thrown these tapes in a box and carried on. What I found (when I finally located a VHS machine) was that my stage presence wasn’t (quite) as geeky as I remember, and that the old songs still rock. The video technology may be hopelessly dated, but the music is (mostly) not.

I used to have bands, and they were good.

As soon as I capture and edit this archival footage, I’ll be uploading some of the least-horrific bits to YouTube. Or maybe I’ll just go for the shock value. Be warned, you won’t be able to un-see

Somehow, cleaning my basement always turns into a bit of a psycho-archaeological expedition. The act of wading through layers of tattered boxes (that were never unpacked from the last two moves), lifestyle artifacts, and abandoned projects functions as a kind of past-life-regression therapy for me. This summer, under stacks of photographs (which can be dated by the configuration of my facial hair), I encountered these strange, gray plastic boxes. After a few moments, I recognized them as ADAT tapes, circa 1995.

My first professional studio sessions were recorded to 2-inch analog tape (at Smart Studios). By the time that my next band, Howl (yes, our name was taken from the Ginsberg poem), was ready to record a demo, many studios had “upgraded” to ADAT machines – 8-track digital decks that recorded to VHS tapes. Need more than 8 tracks? Start stacking the decks! We apparently used 4 tapes, but I can’t imagine using 32 tracks just to record our overblown power trio.

These particular tapes were recorded at Sleepless Nights studio (now Megatone) in Madsion, WI. Thanks to the beauty of even-more-ancient camcorder technology, images were captured of the actual ADAT machines we used, as they were recording these very tapes. It almost makes one feel as though some great karmic circle of Rock ‘n’ Roll has been completed right here, in this blog post.

You may be wondering “what exactly did this primitive digital music sound like?” Unfortunately, I don’t have the gear to play back these tapes for you (although it now sells on eBay for less than a tenth of the original cost) – but would you be satisfied with a second-generation cassette rip? What if I told you it was recorded by a Grammy-winning engineer?

Did I throw the tapes away? Almost. I was so close. But I reckon it won’t hurt anything to hang onto them for another year (or ten), and I’ve already taken several boxes of basement junk to St. Vincent de Paul. But, hey, let me know if you want them. Should you still own a VCR, you could actually shove one of these tapes in and press Play. Of course, you’d only hear some digital blips and bleeps – but that might very well sound more pleasant to you (or at least more contemporary) than Howl.

If you’re wondering what other lost musical artifacts were unearthed during Bradley’s Epic Basement Purge, there’s more to come.

Back in the 90’s, I was the front man for a hard rock band. We thought we were pretty good. After playing a prominent showcase with local legends Marques Bovre & the Evil Twins, we started working with Bovre’s manager, Scott Stewart. For most bands back then, the Rock ‘n’ Roll dream was to sign a contract with a record label, who would do the work of making your band rich and famous. It may have come true for a few, but anyone still waiting for that to happen to them is truly dreaming.

Scott had experience with pitching bands to labels, but he told us that we needed to lay the groundwork ourselves by building our fan base and proving that we could sell tickets, CDs, and merch on our own. That seemed like a lot of work at the time, but it was exactly what we needed to hear. Of course, that’s still what every band needs to do. What’s changed is that 90% or more of bands today are better off without a record label.

To test the waters, Scott sent our demo tape to his contact at MCA Records. We’d never toured, and our mailing list was decidedly skimpy, but we had good songs and our demo sounded decent. Heck, hadn’t a lot of bands had been signed for less? None of us expected big results from Scott’s pitch, and we weren’t crushed when he received the rejection letter. However, It didn’t occur to me until years later that being offered a contract would actually have been more harmful to the band than being rejected.

I recall reading that most bands who signed with the majors never even got to the point of putting out a record before being dropped. Were they still held accountable for paying back their advance, or any promotion or recording costs they may have incurred? Did they even have the rights to their own songs anymore? Thank you, MCA records.

I’m sure that my band would have quickly crumbled under the pressure of major label obligations. we were three inexperienced, Midwestern kids who would probably have signed anything with a major label logo at the top. When the ride was over, we could have had a hell of a story to tell down at the local bar. As it happened, the band crumbled on its own within the year. I’ve still got a box of those demo tapes somewhere, though. Now, if I can just locate a cassette player.